Another Crumbling Wall
by Sorry It's Too Late
Summary: Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Lucifer. The four archangels, eldest of the angels, find themselves stuck on Earth with no power and no way to return to Heaven. Will they be able to get back without killing each other? They'll need help.
1. Chapter 1

Four men stood in the middle of an empty cornfield, the crop having already been harvested before the oncoming frost. They seemed normal enough, other than the fact that they weren't human at all. The first indicator of that would be the gigantic wings that stretched behind each of them. White, red, grey, and gold. They seemed to fill the sky as they beat slowly, the only thing that moved in the desolate field.

The second sign was the way that they had appeared in the barren land. A blinding white light had flared up, leaving the four men in its wake. The light had slowly retreated into their bodies. It had seemed to sink below their skin, giving each of them a god-like appearance for a few seconds. Luckily, no humans had been near. Any person within a mile would have been killed instantly, burned to ash from the holy light.

The angelic men stood taut, none daring to move for fear they'd be killed by the others.

The archangel with white wings was the first to shift, breaking the calm to rush towards his red winged counterpart.

"_**Lucifer!**_" Michael roared, his true voice shaking the Earth, shattering the windows of the farmhouse that sat over a mile away. It carried even further, rumbling the ground was reported in a city fifteen miles away from where they stood. "_**What have you done?**_" He grabbed the younger angel by the throat, lifting him off of the ground. This, of course, didn't hurt the angel; he didn't need to breathe, but it did worry him. If Michael pulled his blade out now, he could kill him without any trouble.

"_**Michael, leave him be. This couldn't be his fault.**_" The grey winged angel said quietly to the furious warrior of God, his voice, even speaking softly, still thunderous to a human's ear. Michael whirled around, releasing Lucifer as he stormed closer to his brother who had sat in Heaven, leaving him to rot in the devil's cage. Lucifer drew in a deep breath, watching his brother storm away. Watching a sword drop into his brother's hand, ready to kill Raphael.

Michael grabbed Raphael by the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until they were chest to chest, his blade the only thing between them, separating them with a deadly edge. "_**Are you taking the blame then, Raphael?**_" He growled, letting his voice ring through the noiseless expanse. The younger angel said nothing, he simply stared at Michael, his eyes wide with shock. Lucifer was having trouble paying attention. The sensations were overwhelming him.

He had been trapped in Hell for eons, freed, and then stuck right back in after only a few months. Suddenly he was surrounded by wind, grass, _fresh air_. Raphael's scream of pain brought him back to the present. Michael had drawn his sword and sliced at the youngest archangel's cheek.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you here and now." Somehow, Raphael's eyes widened even further. Gabriel walked up to Michael, his hands held open to show he didn't mean to harm him. Michael growled, unconcerned with the trickster's sudden interest in peacekeeping. He held his sword to the grey winged archangel's throat, pressing a little so that Raphael knew he was not joking.

"Stop, Michael." Gabriel said. "We're never going to get anything done if you keep on fighting." He'd stopped speaking in his true voice in the hope that it would help calm his brothers from their righteous rage. Lucifer released the tense breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as Michael grace wrapped tightly around itself, separating himself from his siblings. He released his tight grip on Raphael, and the angel slumped to the ground, desperately drawing in breaths.

"I don't know about you yahoos," he continued, "but I'd like to survive a little longer, so could we stop the bickering for five minutes?" His voice rose steadily until he was almost screaming, his wings beating fiercely down in frustration. The golden winged archangel was trying to conceal his confusion. The last thing he remembered was Lucifer spearing him with his own sword, and his vision being engulfed by bright light. Then he'd woken up here.

Raphael slowly stood up, rubbing his throat. "How are we all here? I recall that Gabriel died, and you two were thrown into the cage by Lucifer's vessel, and I… I died as well."

"Could our Father have done this?" Michael questioned, still not looking his brothers in the eye. "Only He can bring an angel back to life, and I know of no spells that can deplete an archangel's grace." Gabriel frowned.

"Why are there so many angels on Earth? It feels like every angel is here." His grace stretched across as much land as he could cover, which was around a quarter of the Earth. "And Heaven… Heaven is closed."

Michael finally looked up, meeting Gabriel's eyes. "What do you mean, Heaven is closed? How can Heaven be closed?" The eldest angel reached his grace towards Heaven, probing the gates that regulated which souls entered the holiest land. "We have to reopen it." He declared.

Raphael cleared his throat, alerting the other archangels.

"Our grace has been weakened to the point where it will be difficult to hide our wings from humans, never mind trying to fix _this_." The grey winged angel told his brothers. "Only our Father could have done it. We can't access Heaven to ask Him, and I doubt any angels will want to assist us." He bit his lip, not wanting to admit their predicament.

"We need help."

Soon:

_And that lead them to where they were now, too exhausted to fly, too weak to smite all the demons, and not powerful enough to continuously heal themselves while they physically killed each and every demon. _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Then:**_

_Our grace has been weakened to the point where it will be difficult to hide our wings from humans, never mind trying to fix this." The grey winged angel told his brothers. "Only our Father could have done it. We can't access Heaven to ask Him, and I doubt any angels will want to assist us." He bit his lip, not wanting to admit their predicament._

"_We need help."_

Castiel felt an enormous force appear in America, an almost unfathomable power pushing against the Earth itself. He felt overwhelmed by it, miniscule in its presence. It reminded him of the Heaven of long ago, when their Father had been there, encompassing all in his warm embrace of love. That Heaven was long gone. It had faded the movement that God had left them, leaving the world in their care. Leaving Heaven to fall into chaos. He stood still, not daring to move as he was flooded in a warm grace.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the familiar strength disappeared, leaving a cold, empty void in Castiel's heart that it had once filled. The gap it left on the Earth was quickly filled by the natural grace of the world rushing back to its old spot, settling in comfortably.

Well, not exactly. It hadn't truly left, at least not all of it. It was more like a fire that had been doused in water. There were still a few burning embers of power left. About four, to be exact. He wondered if this would be something the Winchesters would hear about. Could humans feel the power press against the ground, creating a magnet for stray grace? Would the humans be attracted to it, as most creatures were?

He decided to tell to the brothers about it. The remaining four beings concerned him, though he loathed to admit it. He knew now that there had originally been five, with the fifth being the impossibly strong one, possibly God Himself, but it had left, leaving the others on Earth. The combined energy of the lingering creatures was equal to maybe a high-level seraph, but that was it. There were many was the power could be divided. One could be strong as a seraph and the others could be weak as a cherub or possibly they could all be fairly strong, maybe equal to a normal angel's power. He wouldn't be able to tell until he got closer.

With a soft flap of his wings, Castiel disappeared from the empty parking lot where he had mused, and set off to the Winchester's home.

Dean sat alone in a motel room, waiting for Sam to come back with some takeout for an incredibly late dinner. They hadn't been getting along to well lately, with the stress from the apocalypse and all. He knew that Sam still blamed himself for causing it in the first place, and Dean wasn't too sure what he thought himself. He couldn't just walk up to his brother and tell him that it was his fault that they now had to stop two dickish archangels from using their bodies to destroy half the world.

The news played on the TV behind him, a comforting droning hum as he searched the internet for information about a little girl who had gone missing from a town not too far from here. Apparently she had been left at a park by her father while he had gone to run some errands. When he had returned, she was nowhere to be found, and the park was deserted. It made absolutely no sense. The father had said the park was full of families before he had gone. Where had they all gone to? Had they fled from something?

A voice broke him from his thoughts. It was the television. He turned it up, paying attention now. "_... reports are flooding in from South Dakota, where a freak earthquake has startled the residents of Jefferson County. There are no deaths reported as of yet, though twenty seven are injured, none seriously. Experts are baffled as to why there has been seismic activity…_" He bit his lip, wondering if he should call Cas to ask him about it, whether the freak earthquake had a more sinister cause than some undiscovered fault.

A hand touched his shoulder, jerking him from his unintentional daze. He jumped, looking up to see none other than the angel he had been thinking about. Castiel looked at him seriously, not saying a word. The dark-haired seraph looked almost… well, almost weary. Yes, that was it. Cas looked drained, as though something had given him hope, and then ripped it away. The eldest Winchester didn't dare try to guess what had happened.

"You okay?" Dean asked, the shock from his sudden appearance wearing off. Castiel looked down, biting his lip as if he had no idea what to say. "I heard about some freak earthquake in South Dakota, were you there?"

"No, I wasn't, though I did feel something." Castiel admitted, looking away for a moment as he paused to search for the right words. "Dean, something powerful was there, something stronger than anything I've ever felt."

Dean's eyes widened slightly. "Do you have any idea what it is? Where did you feel it?" He rubbed a hand through his sandy hair. Sam wouldn't like this. New, powerful players in the game. He silently prayed that they weren't on Hell's side, and then stopped, remembering that Cas could hear prayers. The seraph looked over at him for a moment, looking a tiny bit exasperated at the human. Dean smiled a bit in spite of himself. His expression was priceless.

"There were five beings, but the fifth left. The remaining four are much, much weaker than the fifth creature. I believe they are the cause of the 'freak' seismic activity." Castiel finished. Dean nodded slowly. That made no sense at all to him, but that wasn't really the problem. The problem was that Cas wasn't telling him what they were. Castiel was old, though he didn't act like it most of the time. He'd been around for thousands of years, he'd seen things that Dean couldn't even imagine, and he obviously had no clue what this thing was, but he didn't want to admit it.

"Well, we may as well start heading -" Dean stopped as he heard the telltale creak of the motel door opening. He looked over quickly, whipping his gun from his waistband and pointing it towards the door. He lowered it once he saw Sam entering holding two takeout bags from a nearby Chinese place. Sam glanced around at his brother and the angel, slightly confused and worried. Dean groaned a little, his back protesting.

"Hungry?" Sam asked, lifting up one of the bags. Dean shook his head slowly in exasperation. His brother could be so dense sometimes.

"Sam, we need to leave. Cas says he felt some super powered freak in South Dakota and some freaky stuff's been happening there." Sam nodded.

"Okay. He have any clue what they are?" Dean was about to scold his brother about not directly addressing the angel, but when he turned around he saw that Castiel vanished.

"Goddamn angels."

The four archangels stood in a circle with their backs facing towards the inside, wings folded tight against their spines. Each of them held a long, sharp blade. Each was unique, crafted by God to protect them. Michael's had been meticulously engraved by the archangel himself in the time before Lucifer had been created, when he had drifted through space, alone in the void. His Father had been too busy creating to watch the angel, and He had left him to his own devices, with only the knife to guard him from danger.

Lucifer's blade was stained crimson to the hilt, a reminder from their Father of all the brothers he'd killed long ago. The handle was covered in markings like Michael's, but rather than just beautiful carvings, the devil's was coated in enochian writing. The script had been added while he languished in his cage, stories of the seemingly eternal torment he'd faced.

The two younger archangels' swords were rather plain in comparison to their brothers'. They were almost uniform blades, nearly the same as their millions of younger brothers, except that theirs were larger. Gabriel's had some lettering of enochian on the grip of his, a reminder he had written himself while he'd been on Earth. The letters spoke of loyalty and remembrance of the glory of Heaven. Raphael's had no markings, nothing marring the deadly beauty of the metal. He said he liked the way it looked, but a long time ago Lucifer had teased that he and Gabriel were too afraid that they were going to mess up to mark their blades.

All four of the brilliant swords were gripped tightly by their owners. Michael and Lucifer's stained with blood as black as night. The blood of the demons that surrounded the weakened angels. Someone in Hell had obviously felt their presence touch Earth, and had decided to check it out. Once it had seen the archangels, it had clearly chosen to tell Crowley about this opportunity to rid the Earth of them. And that lead them to where they were now, too exhausted to fly, too weak to smite all the demons, and not powerful enough to continuously heal themselves while they physically killed each and every demon.

Though no demon could slay an archangel without one of their swords, they could injure them to the point where they would fall unconscious, either from lack of grace or a multitude of injuries. Then the fiends could steal one of their blades and kill them all.

They were, as Dean would say, screwed.

_**Soon:**_

_The crack echoed through the ears of every being that stood in the field, bringing all the movement and fighting to a sudden halt. Michael's scream of agony followed an instant after, shattering the eardrums of every demon that remained. The smartest had disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, knowing what was to come next. _

_**Then:**_

_Lucifer narrowed his eyes, wrapping Michael's miniscule grace in his own. How dare he come here now, when they are all too weak to smite the deserter. He had not only rebelled against Heaven. No, he had rejected Hell as well. He had chosen a few humans over every single one of his brothers. As if they were worthy of it. As if they mattered._

"_Castiel."_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Then:**_

_Though no demon could slay an archangel without one of their swords, they could injure them to the point where they would fall unconscious, either from lack of grace or a multitude of injuries. Then the fiends could steal one of their blades and kill them all. _

_ They were, as Dean would say, screwed._

* * *

The air buzzed with power, putting the demons on edge. They had been told that there were a few weakened angels in some field, an easy kill that would gain them recognition throughout Hell and a sizable promotion if they were lucky enough to kill one themselves. Naturally, countless demons had shown up to the king's throne, begging to be put on the unit, but Crowley had only selected the strongest, fastest, and smartest of them. The rest had gone back to the bowels of Hell to sulk.

Right now the chosen ones were wishing that they had been one of the "unlucky". When Crowley had told the hordes of demons about the mission, he hadn't mentioned anything about _archangels_. Weakened or not, they still possessed a lifetime of knowledge longer than almost anything alive now. Another thing Crowley hadn't said was the fact that their father, Lucifer, would be there, standing among the other angels, right next to Michael. They seemed to be protecting the younger two, killing any demon that dared even step near them.

How could their father betray them this way?

The archangels were thinking the exact same thing, to be truthful. How could their Father, wherever He was, do this to them? Leave them almost defenseless on Earth, with the tiniest fraction of their former grace left. It was if He'd tired of them, and rather than just killing them, He'd decided He wanted them to suffer greatly in their final moments.

Entertainment, Lucifer supposed.

Raphael steeled himself for the end, asking for forgiveness from God for those who he had failed to save. Gabriel just hoped that with the archangels dead, the apocalypse would end and Heaven, Earth, and even Hell would finally be peaceful.

Lucifer was furious. He had never been given another chance. His Father had just brought him here to kill him, and not even that. No, he would be killed by the twisted abominations that called him father. Obviously the irony hadn't escaped God's notice.

Each angel prepared for the end in their own way, but all Michael could do was pray. Not for himself, of course. He prayed for mercy for the humans who had been possessed by demons, for the courage to do what must be done, for the strength he needed to save his brothers.

Once Michael finished, he raised his sword high, and with a righteous cry he propelled himself forward, spearing a demon. He pulled the blade from the creature's head, twisting to impale it in the heart of another.

His brothers watched in shock, not really ready for what Michael had done. They had all been preoccupied mourning their deaths already to notice that he'd been planning something. Lucifer was the first to shake off the dazed numbness, and when he did, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head, waking him up instantly. Michael had decided to save them. While he had been wallowing in self-pity, Michael had been thinking only of his brothers. A feeling of shame spread through him, and he forced himself to move, pushing out his sword to stab an imp who had been rushing out to join the mob that had surrounded Michael.

He could still see his brother illuminated in the red light of demons dying, but more often in the bright white light of his own grace as he was cut by some bold creature of Hell. How they had gathered the courage needed to injure the ancient archangel, Lucifer didn't know. He was only a few millennia younger than Michael and he could barely muster the strength to even challenge him, let alone actually fight.

Seeing their eldest brother's grace ooze from his vessel shocked Gabriel and Raphael from the cage of emotion which had bound them to one spot. Gabriel ran forward, screaming with his true voice in fury. How dare they hurt his brother, one of the few who he had looked up to in his long life. Raphael followed him, flanking him as he charged the masses of demons surrounding Michael. The combined efforts of the two archangels soon cut down any demon who dared oppose them, and Michael soon was freed from the throng that had nearly crushed him beneath its weight.

Pure white wings spread from Michael's back, flaring out in half-crazed fury to strike any demon near enough to him. Razor sharp feathers lacerated the flesh of the vile creatures. Soon his plumage was shining crimson, akin to Lucifer's. But the demons were creatures of opportunity. They could wait a century if it meant they won out in the end, and they could see even the slimmest chance of survival and they would take it every time. They already knew that the wings of an angel were extremely vulnerable from the torture of Lucifer in his cage, and here were the wings of Michael, laid out before them.

One of the monsters seized a handful of the gleaming white plumes, ignoring the pain as they cut into her flesh as she ripped them out, joyously listening to the angel's roar of rage. Another stabbed a knife into the sensitive muscle even as Michael beat his wings, driving the culprit backwards in a bloody heap. Two more grasped his other wing, pulling in separate directions.

The crack echoed through the ears of every being that stood in the field, bringing all the movement and fighting to a sudden halt. Michael's scream of agony followed an instant after, shattering the eardrums of every demon that remained. The smartest had disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, knowing what was to come next.

The ground began to shake as Michael's cry continued, growing slowly higher as it grew closer to his true voice. The demons, who had been clutching their ears to try to suppress the throbbing pain, began to convulse, burning from inside out with holy light. Simultaneously, they all stopped, dead.

Michael collapsed towards the ground suddenly, the strain from smiting the demons too much on his already weakened grace. Lucifer rushed forward, trying to catch his older brother before he fell, but he was too late. The eldest archangel landed on his already broken wing. Not the slightest expression appeared on his blank face. He wouldn't be feeling anything for some time now.

Lucifer grabbed Michael and quickly turned him over so that he lay on his stomach. He looked at his broken wing, almost crying out in shock when he got a good look at it for the first time. The appendage was no longer white. The feathers were tacky with blood. Angel's blood was their grace mixed with their vessel's red blood, so the end result depended on the colour of the angel's grace. Michael's shone the purest of white, so when it mixed with the red of Adam Milligan's blood it ended up very light pink. Lucifer's grace shimmered in a colour resembling silver, while Raphael's glowed dark grey. Gabriel's gleamed golden, matching the shade of his wings.

Lucifer searched for Michael's grace, feeling only a faint whisper of what it had been. His grace was miniscule, and what was left was pulled tight together as a last minute precaution by the archangel that now slumbered inside the body.

A quiet, muttered exclamation pulled him from Michael's spirit. He looked up to see a much younger brother, one he had met only a few times before, standing not ten feet from him. The angel took in the scene with a neutral, disinterested expression until his eyes had landed on the archangels. His calm air quickly turned to one of shock.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, wrapping Michael's miniscule grace in a shield of his own. How dare he come here now, when they are all too weak to smite the deserter. He had not only rebelled against Heaven. No, he had rejected Hell as well. He had chosen a few humans over every single one of his brothers. As if they mattered. As if they were important.

"Castiel."

_**Soon:**_

_The plants surrounding the archangel seemed to shudder from the force of his rage, as if they knew what was to come next. The beige coat that Castiel always seemed to wear whipped against his legs in the fierce wind surrounding him. A storm was brewing, but it concerned none of them._


End file.
